


Everybody’s Got Their Limits (Nobody’s Found Mine)

by muttshrooms



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Junoverse | Juno Steel Universe, Other, POV Peter Nureyev, Panic Attacks, Rape Recovery, Self-Destruction, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, it’s very vague but please take care of yourself, sometimes you thrust your trauma onto a fictional character to cope, trauma fucking with your ability to trust, vaguely PTSD as written by an author with PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25156213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muttshrooms/pseuds/muttshrooms
Summary: “I’m fine.” He hadn’t felt able to breathe in hours. He was exhausted. He was hurting. He...didn’t even want to think of Juno. He couldn’t know, of course, he could never know. What had happened to him. What Nureyev had let those men do to him. Howweakhe was. How much of a victim he had become. If Juno ever saw the damages, well. He wouldn’t let him see them. Juno. Sweet, clever, beautiful Juno. If he ever looked at him like Buddy was now, it would break his heart entirely. No, Juno could never know.After a mission breaks bad, Peter Nureyev finds himself in an alleyway full of bad intentions with no escape. Even worse, however, is picking up the pieces.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101





	Everybody’s Got Their Limits (Nobody’s Found Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there everybody. I wrote this as a therapeutic exercise to help deal with my own shit. I waffled on whether or not to post it for a while, but I know I’ve read many recovery fics on my own journey, so I eventually decided to. That being said, there are some real trigger warnings for this one, please heed them and stay safe! 
> 
> Tws: referenced sexual assault, panic attacks, trauma fucking with your ability to trust people you trust, masking feelings and avoiding them, brief sex that triggers a panic attack, unhealthy coping mechanisms, feeling gross and dirty after assault and being deprecating about that
> 
> Title is from Choked Out by the Mountain Goats, because of course it is.

“-Nureyev?”

He blinked out of his stupor, eyes quickly focusing on the face of the only person in the universe that he loved. His deep, brown eye was narrowed with worry, and glinting, thinking, always thinking. Juno was so clever, so astute. It was a trait that Nureyev had always found admirable, charming, even. Now it sent a cold shudder through his body as he plastered an easy smile onto his tired face. “Yes, Juno? My love, the light of my life?” 

Acting came as naturally as breathing to Peter Nureyev. He had donned so many masks throughout his life that, at times, it became difficult to recognize his own face in the mirror. Tonight he was living in the body of a complete and total stranger. 

He had been able to conceal all the internal factors- the acid, bubbling in his throat that had sat there for hours, the emotional tide growing inside of him, threatening to drown him alive, the strange and nauseating sense of guilt making his head buzz. It was child’s play, literally, to put on a smile and sing a few pretty words. Mag had taught him the conman’s first and most holy of rules the moment he was old enough to speak the words. (Distract, Deflect, Distance) It was what made him who he was. (It was what made him so lonely) 

The physical aftermath had proven much more difficult to wave off. 

“What happened down there, Nureyev?” He could see the detective’s thoughts racing about his head, searching for any flaw in his facade. It was typically something he found quite endearing. Now, it made him clench his teeth. 

“Why Juno, you were in the meeting just now, were you not? I believe I made myself quite clear. Vespa and I were separated when we were interrupted by Dark Matters, then I got into a scuffle on my way back to the ship.”

Now it was Juno’s turn to clench his teeth. He looked absolutely lovely like this- the outrage and intrigue of a case tightening his features like a bowstring on the verge of snapping. “Cut the crap, Nureyev. A scuffle doesn’t leave you with a black eye and broken ribs. It also doesn’t take _five_ hours-“

“I was laying low.”

“-and you took a suspiciously long time in the sick bay with Vespa-“

Something inside Nureyev snapped. “That’s enough, Juno,” his voice was low, calculated. His eyes flashed with something fierce and wild, the hint of teeth before a cornered animal lunged to bite. And Juno, lovely, wonderful, passionate Juno Steel, continued despite. 

“Something happened down there, Nureyev, and if you don’t find me I’m going to figure it out myself so you might as well cut the crap!” 

“Will you _shut up_ for once in your fucking life!” He could feel the crack in his composure as clearly as the crack of his ribs as he panted, holding his side as sweaty strands of perfectly coiffed hair tumbled in front of his glasses. Juno’s mouth fell open, staring at him for a few moments that may as well have been eons. Then, he slipped out the door without saying goodbye. 

Only once the sound of Juno's retreating footsteps faded from earshot did Nureyev allow himself to sob. 

~

Juno still wasn’t talking to him when they attended the ship’s meeting the following day. Nureyev attempted not to let his eyes wander toward the former detective, but upon failing this task found Juno’s gaze already steadily fixed upon him. He found himself unable to think of anything else, and the rest of the meeting passed by in a haze. 

“Ransom. Are you ready to go?” The thief jolted back to himself to find Jet hovering over him. The Unnatural Disaster made for an intimidating figure on the best of days, but seeing him now, it made Nureyev want to shrink into his body like a rabbit from a hawk. Jet continued to stare, clearly waiting for a response. 

“But of course.” the words tumbled out of his mouth, second nature. It was quite unlike him to not know exactly what was happening, but it would have been even more strange for him to make his uncertainty known. Best to go with the flow and to pick up on his roll along the way. 

“We shall take the Ruby 7 to the surface of the planet, and then we will collect the parts we need. You are to stay by my side the entire time.” Jet’s even voice intoned as they walked, briskly, Nureyev taking two steps for every one of Jet’s giant strides. “I do not think you were actually paying attention during that meeting, so I thought I would inform you of our objective.” 

“Oh, Mr. Sikuliaq, I was, of course, paying attention to the meeting. But I do always appreciate going over a plan. It does help keep surprises to a minimum.” Jet said nothing at this. 

Nureyev was tall. It was something he had always prided himself on. He had the body of a gazelle, long and limber, and almost entirely comprising of legs. Yes, Peter Nureyev towered over most people that he met, and yet. Jet Sikuliaq was a giant of a man. He was at least a good head taller than Nureyev on a normal day. It had never quite occurred to him how unfamiliar it was, looking _up_ at someone. 

Had the Ruby 7 always been this small? The engine purred beneath him as Jet turned the key and the car sprung to life. 

Nureyev’s breath caught in his throat as Sikuliaq’s hand reached toward the center console to...to…

_to grab him, to force him down to grab at his hair, his torso, his-_

To shift the gears. To the car. Of course. Nureyev let out a breath, a panicked, shaky thing that he hadn’t known was attempting to escape his chest until it was clawing its way out. ‘ _Pull yourself together!’_ he shook his head, once, and then a second time, more gently. He glanced over to Jet, stomach turning at the thought that he might have made a visible reaction to the movement, something that Jet might have _seen_ , that would inevitably find its way back to Buddy. Jet’s face betrayed nothing, as passive as stone, and his eyes were firmly fixed on the horizon. The master thief supposed he should have felt relief at that, would have typically felt _something_ , but it did nothing to soothe his heart in his chest, fluttering like an ailing bird. 

He was being ridiculous, of course. Sikuliaq would never do that. In fact, Nureyev was fairly sure he _didn’t_ do that at all. It was beyond ridiculous that he found himself in such a frenzy over something so nonthreatening, over someone he was supposed to be able to trust. 

A family. That was how Buddy had described them. She wanted them to be a great, big, family. Families didn’t hurt each other. _‘It wouldn’t even be the first time for you, would it?’_

She had fixed her gaze on him in the sickbay as Vespa told her in hushed whispers what specific brand of trauma his wounds were consistent with. As if he couldn’t _hear_ her. As if he couldn’t see the pity in her eyes as he stood up to question him. 

“Are you alright, Peter?” 

“Would you like to take a break, Peter? No one would blame you.” 

“Would you like me to tell Juno?” 

“I’m _fine_ .” He hadn’t felt able to breathe in hours. He was exhausted. He was hurting. He...didn’t even want to think of Juno. He couldn’t know, of course, he could never know. What had happened to him. What Nureyev had let those men do to him. How w _eak_ he was. How much of a victim he had become. If Juno ever saw the damages, well. He wouldn’t let him see them. Juno. Sweet, clever, beautiful Juno. If he ever looked at him like Buddy was now, it would break his heart entirely. No, Juno could never know. 

Which was why he had to con Jet Siqiuliak. Why he had to convince the man who had voiced his distrust of him on multiple occasions that he wasn’t hiding anything at all behind his smiling, cool exterior. Why he had to adopt the mask of Peter Ransom, the unphasable, untouchable master thief. 

Peter Ransom put on a quiet smile and began to talk calmly about the local weather. 

  
  


~

By some form of miracle (and a great degree of skill) they completed the mission without problem and returned to the Carte Blanch. Jet was a difficult man to read, but Nureyev didn’t think the man held any degree of suspicion towards him greater than was typical. 

And yet, Nureyev refused to let his guard down until he could hear the slide of his room’s sliding doors close automatically behind him. Only then, did he allow himself to breathe. Deep, gulping breaths, as if he were starving, as if there were a crack in the Carte Blanche’s hull. Leftover, panicked heaves, comeback to haunt him. At least he was alone. At least no one was here to witness the cracks in his mask, in his body. The broken remains he was desperately trying to hold together

A knock at the door nearly sent him flying out of his skin. 

He forced the panic down like bitter acid in his throat, quickly fixing his hair and wiping at the beads of sweat threatening to form on his forehead. 

“N- Ransom. You in there?” another knock came at the door, gentler this time, more unsure. Juno. Nureyev’s heart sank. He still had yet to apologize to him, to beg his forgiveness, to promise never again to force Juno to look at his ugly parts, at the fissures in his exterior. He had to open the door and face him. It simply wasn’t an option. 

And yet. He hesitated. 

“Listen, Ransom. It wasn’t fair of me to push you like that. I just...I know something’s going on. I can’t help seeing it. But you don’t have to tell me yet if you don’t want to. I’ll...I’ll turn the detective thing off. Can you just open the do-“

Somehow, without his permission, his body had crossed the room and hit the release button, staring down at his detective, beautiful and brash as his eye widened with surprise. “Oh.” 

Oh, indeed. Juno was wearing shorts, worn and comfortable, up to his waist, and a tanktop that had shrunk in the wash the week prior. Nureyev silently blessed the appliance, as the shirt now left nothing to the imagination, clinging to Juno’s thick, muscled torso, his soft belly, and the faintest outline of his pierced nipples. He looked like a goddess. Nureyev wanted him desperately. 

“I have my own share of things to apologize for. Won’t you come in, Juno?” 

Juno tasted like cinnamon whiskey as he pressed his apologies into the former detective’s lips. They were as soft, plush, and yielded easily as Juno sank into the embrace. 

_I’m sorry._ His hands threaded into Juno’s hair. 

_I’m broken right now._ He pushed him back onto the bed. 

_Please don’t leave me._ He straddled his hips, pulling back for a moment to mouth at his neck, reveling in his partner’s day old stubble. The pants Juno made sounded like music. 

_Please don’t leave._

They kissed lazily and frantically, each unwilling to let go of the other, for what could have been hours or minutes. All that mattered was the need to get closer hanging in the air, tinged with desperation. 

Juno had such lovely hands, rough and calloused and scarred from years of working tirelessly. Long, thick fingers. He loved those hands. His breath caught in his throat as he felt them trace their way slowly from his hip and into his pants.

Nureyev’s voice failed him, when the sensations setting his body on fire went from good to bad. His breath caught in his throat, refusing to budge an inch either way. Juno’s fingers stroked through his folds, and his voice was husky when he whispered in Nureyev’s ear, “fuck, you’re wet.” 

Tears he hadn’t known were brewing streaked down his face as a gasp freed itself from his throat. Juno froze at this, leaning back abruptly to look at Nureyev’s face. And though the thief couldn’t meet the detective’s eye, he could _feel_ the burgeoning horror on his face as his body sailed into damage control mode, pulling his hand back like something stung him. 

Nureyev’s breath came to him easily, then. Too easily. He panted as if he were running, feeling no relief in the ragged snippets of air he was able to pull into his lungs. Vaguely, he could feel Juno hovering over him, hands on his shoulders, gentle, as if he would shatter if Juno handled him too roughly. Hell, maybe he would.

Peter Nureyev could count seconds in his sleep with the accuracy of a military stopwatch. Timing was everything when you were one of the universe’s greatest thieves, after all. And yet, he hadn’t the faintest clue how long they sat there, Juno whispering vague niceties as Nureyev gulped down every breath, sure it would be his last. He was dying, after all. There was simply no other explanation to the sensations he was feeling.

When he came back to himself, he was accompanied by a great wave of shame. He went into damage control mode immediately. “My apologies, Juno. I believe I just had an asthma attack. The Jupiter winds must not agree with my lungs.” Nevermind that Jupiter was currently a thousand miles below them and the ship’s oxygen supply was triple filtered, stupid, Nureyev, absolutely ridiculous. 

Juno’s expression was hard and unreadable as he looked at Nureyev with a single amber-brown eye. His eyebrows were furrowed, his forehead littered with adorable wrinkles, as the seconds spanned into minutes. “Nureyev, I know a panic attack when I see one.” 

Nureyev's wordless laugh quickly mutated into something less contained, more unhinged. “A panic attack?” he remarked, breathlessly. “Juno, that’s ridiculous.” A panic attack. Gods above, a panic attack. Who did Juno think he was? What did Juno think he was? 

“Yes, Nureyev. A panic attack. I’ve had enough of them to know. What happened? Was it something I did? Well. Of course it was something I did,” quieter, “Dammit, Steel.” 

Juno had panic attacks? The thief blinked as he looked into the face of the person he loved, and reevaluated. Juno had panic attacks. Juno, arguably one of the strongest, most stubborn people in the galaxy, had panic attacks. Juno Steel, who lived up to his name, not glass or porcelain or anything else remotely breakable. He gaped, wordlessly, for a moment, trying to think of an intelligent response. Or, really, any response at all. 

“Did I go too fast? Did I...damn it, I should have known. Stupid! I should have stopped before that happened. I’m so sorry, Nureyev.” 

“Juno, no. That...it wasn’t you.” But Juno wasn’t listening, stuck in his eternal downward spiral of self loathing. 

“Fuck, Nureyev, I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“Juno, _please_. He clasped at Juno’s shoulders, a pleading look in his eyes. This seemed to finally break through to the detective, who paused, looking at him with concern so gentle, Nureyev feared it might break him. 

“Juno, dear, can I...tell you something?” 

~

Juno was crying by the time he finished. Nureyev was surprised that he wasn’t. He merely didn’t have the energy. He felt far too exhausted to cry, to speak, to do much of anything but lean into the embrace that Juno offered as he trembled. 

“Nureyev, why...why didn’t you use your coms? We would have. We could have...stopped them. Done something. I was sitting on the ship, being useless. I could have helped!” 

“The coms jammer took such an option away from me Juno. Believe me, I tried.” He tried and failed not to let a bitter tone creep into his voice as he murmured the last part into the detective’s tank top. He didn’t think he’d soon forget the laugh that they had shared as they had pulled his coms out of his hands and crushed it, knowing for certain that no one was coming for him. 

“Hell, Nureyev. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

“It’s fine, Juno. I’ll be fine.” 

Juno paused for a long minute, at that, seemingly thinking over his words carefully. My, he had grown in the past few months. “You know you don’t have to be, right?” Nureyev’s fingers paused from caressing Juno’s shoulder as he parsed the meaning behind them. 

“I assure you I am.” Deflect. 

Juno gently gathered up his hands from where they had drifted downwards in an unconscious attempt to distract the detective and craned his neck so that he could look into Peter’s eyes. 

“Listen, Nureyev, if you say you’re alright, then you’re alright. But I need you to know that it’s ok if you’re not. It’s ok if it takes you weeks, or months, or if you’re never ok again. And it’s ok if this…” he paused for a second, hesitating, eye shutting and then opening again with the determination Nureyev loved so dearly, “it’s ok if this changes things. If I need to change. We’ll work together to find a new normal.” 

He loved him so dearly in that moment. Of course, a pretty speech was not what he needed to fix everything. It didn’t undo what he had gone through or make everything better. But it did help. It made him feel a little less alone. It made him feel a little less broken. A little less ugly. A little less discarded. A little less dirty.

And for the first time in days

he felt like he could breathe again. 

  
  


  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making it through! Sorry to show my whole ass on my first posted fic.


End file.
